


Five things that never happened to The Academy Is...

by littlerhymes



Category: Bandom, The Academy Is...
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe, Future Fic, Gen, Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-11
Updated: 2009-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerhymes/pseuds/littlerhymes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to proteinscollide for beta-reading!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Five things that never happened to The Academy Is...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to proteinscollide for beta-reading!

 1. ROMCOM  
   
   
 **siskybusiness** Ouuuuch! Uncool!RT @MGChislett: <http://fueledbyramen.com/> @siskybusiness looks more and more like Matthew McConaughey then ever in this vid!  
 _7:11 PM Aug 18th from TwitterFon_

    
 _INTERIOR: A house in suburban Chicago. The hero ADAM T. SISKA and his friend THE BUTCHER share a bowl of popcorn while watching television. A cat, LUCY, purrs on the couch between them._  
   
SISKA: Hey... You ever get the feeling that you're stuck in a bad movie? Or a whole bunch of them, even?  
   
THE BUTCHER: Like the one where your parents set you up with this hot chick but it turns out it's just some ploy to make you move out of home and she probably never liked you in the first place?  
   
SISKA: Um. Not really.  
   
THE BUTCHER: Or maybe the one where you start dating this girl and she does all these really fucking horrible things to you but you can't dump her for ten days because of this stupid bet you made and in the end it's all for a magazine anyway?  
   
SISKA: No.  
   
THE BUTCHER: The one where you're a public attorney defending an impossible case? The one where you fall in love with your wedding planner? The one where you're a treasure hunter in the desert? Oh, shit, I know - the one where you're a treasure hunter _under the sea_?  
   
SISKA: (turning red) NO.

THE BUTCHER: Oh. Okay, dude. So what movie were you talking about?  
   
SISKA: You know. The one with the dude.

THE BUTCHER: Right. Right. Absolutely. The one with _the dude_.  
   
SISKA: The one with the dude and he's totally crushing on his best friend and he thinks maybe the best friend feels the same way except his best friend won't shut up for the _two seconds_ it would take for him to freakin' say something. _Jesus_.  
   
 _A pause. THE BUTCHER scratches the back of his neck._  
   
THE BUTCHER: (sheepishly) Oh yeah. Right. I think I'm in that one too.  
   
   


* * *

2\. AFTER THE MUSIC  
   
   
 **billbeckett** Anthony Bourdain is me in 25 years.  
 _1:04 PM Aug 12th from Tweetie_  
 

Clad in impossibly skinny jeans and looking younger than his 38 years, at first glance William Beckett seems more like the pop-punk pin-up he (ever so briefly) was twenty years ago than the bestselling author he is today.  
   
Beckett ("call me Bill, please") laughs and ducks his head when I try the description out loud. "Pop-punk pin-up? Um, not really. That was more Pete's style. Or maybe Brendon's."  
   
He's referring, of course, to multimedia mogul Pete Wentz, a close friend of Beckett's for over two decades; and Brendon Urie, frontman of Panic! At the Disco, another friend and member of the coterie Beckett fondly calls "the Decaydance alumni".  
   
Beckett's famous buddies will be familiar to readers of his memoir _Sleeping With Giants_. An engaging and witty compilation of anecdotes centred around his experiences in the 2000s pop-punk scene, the book became a surprise hit. The book was praised for its authenticity as well as Beckett's description-laden style - noted music biographer James Montgomery ( _Gabriel Saporta: From Midtown to Millionaire_ ) called it "the first definitive insider's look into emo and a hell of a good read". It's even been optioned by a major film studio.  
   
"It is - it is kinda weird," Beckett admits, stuttering slightly when I ask him how his life has changed in the past 12 months. "Ever since my old band [The Academy Is...] broke up, I'd kind of accepted my lot in life, you know?  
   
"This book was just a labour of love. I thought that maybe the people who were there at the time might be interested. I mean, if you'd asked while I was writing, did I think I was going to have the number 1 nonfiction book in the entire country? I'd have said never in a million years." He grins. "Never say never, right?"  
   
There's certainly nothing in Beckett's resume to suggest he had the makings of a bestselling author. He started playing in bands during high school and essentially never stopped. After releasing a solo album under the name Remember Maine, Beckett formed The Academy Is... in 2003 with guitarist Mike Carden and bassist Adam T. Siska.  
   
With their combination of hook-laden pop songs and guitar-rock crunch, the band was often touted as a potential crossover success along the lines of labelmates Panic! At The Disco, Fall Out Boy and Cobra Starship. Beckett in particular, known for his good looks and hard-partying image, seemed designed for the rockstar life. The band had all the ingredients except the crucial one: success. Despite 6 well-received albums and a decade of near-constant touring, the band was never to crack the top 40.  
   
After the band's amicable dissolution in 2014, the other bandmates quietly took up other careers. Carden and fellow guitarist Michael Guy Chislett are co-owners of an LA-based recording studio and production house; and Siska works in A&R, signing and developing new talent. Former drummer Andy "The Butcher" Mrotek is now a commercial artist and designer.  
   
Beckett, however, was quietly devastated and it was months before he could even contemplate what his next step would be.  
   
"That band was everything to me," he says, shaking his head. "For a long time I couldn't - I just had to get away from music and lick my wounds for a while, so to speak. So my wife Christine earned the bacon while I took some time off and cooked dinner and drove the kids to school and to soccer practice and did the laundry.  
   
"In fact," Beckett says thoughtfully, chin propped in hand, "that was a good thing for my whole family. I hadn't realised it at the time, but being on the road constantly with the band meant I'd missed out on so much. Kids grow up so fast, you know? That was the first time I did normal 'dad' things for more than a couple of months at a time. And I loved it."  
   
Eventually, however, Beckett was drawn back to music. "You can take the boy out of the tour bus..." he says drily.  
   
Beckett's released 3 solo albums and 2 EPs digitally since 2016. But his decision to curtail touring in order to spend more time with his family, combined with the lack of major label support, means he hasn't exactly set the charts on fire. In order to earn a decent living Beckett turned to songwriting and composition. He's worked with artists such as Andrew McMahon, Demi Lovato, and current chart-topper Cassadee Pope, and contributed to several film scores.  
   
Today, with his name all over the New York Times bestseller list, Beckett's music is back in the spotlight. His solo albums are receiving more attention than ever and The Academy Is... 'Best of' compilation is climbing the charts.  
   
Any chance, I ask, of a reunion tour? Beckett just smiles mysteriously. "All I can say is - never say never."  
   
 _TRUCKSTOPS AND STATELINES: Further Tales From The Tour Bus_ by William Beckett will be released in 2024.  
  
 

* * *

3\. MAGIC  
   
   
 **MGChislett** [http://twitpic.com/c36oz](http://i399.photobucket.com/albums/pp78/winter_rowan/lj/carden.jpg) \- Mike carden meets a little computer love...  
 _6:55 PM Jul 29th_  
   
   
One night on tour, Chislett falls asleep in his bunk, laptop still open to photoshop.  
   
The next morning he's woken by Carden swearing in the bathroom, his voice only slightly muffled by the thin walls. "Fuck," Carden says, before flinging the door open with a crash and stomping into the bunk area. "What the _fuck_."  
   
Yawning, Chislett rolls over and sees his laptop beside his head, the power light still blinking. He nudges the mousepad with his finger and the screen warms back to life, bringing up the photo of Carden he was messing around with the night before.  
   
"Urgh," Bill says from the bunk above, sounding as sleepy as Chislett feels. "What the hell, Mike?"  
   
"My face," Carden says with deadly and murderous intent. "There is a thing on MY FACE."  
   
After a moment Siska starts laughing. "Nice mo, Carden. How the hell did you grow that overnight?"  
   
Chislett blinks slowly at the screen. No way. No freaking  _way_. Just to be sure, he sneaks a peek out past the curtain of his bunk. One glimpse of mustachio'd Carden has him hastily pulling the curtain shut again and thinking,  _Oh, crap_.  
   
"That's just the thing," Carden says, sounding terrifyingly calm. "That's just the fucking thing. I don't know how the fuck they did it," he says more loudly, so it carries through the whole bus, "but they are fucking DEAD MEAT. You hear me? Dead. meat."  
    
Chislett bites his lip, fingers hovering over Ctrl-Z. Should he...?

"What's all the yelling about?" The Butcher says sleepily from across the aisle. "Hey, Carden, that's some sweet facial hair you're rocking."  
   
"You-" Carden chokes on the words, inarticulate with rage.  
   
Nah. Chislett shuts the laptop with a snap, grinning.   
   
A few weeks later Chislett opens up a photo of Siska. _Just a little off the sides_ , he thinks, the tip of his tongue sticking out with concentration as he manouevres the erase tool across Sisky's shaggy hair. _Or maybe..._  
    
   
 **siskybusiness** The dead ferret has returned  
 _5:35 PM Sep 9th from mobile web_

   


* * *

 

4\. MONOLOGUE  
   
 **myspace.com/theanimalupstairs:** Originally, I loved having to go to the art store everyday for odds n ends. Until I realized that the employees were in fact making fun of me. I think... I think one of the dudes there thinks I have a crush on him. I cant help it if I need art stuff everyday! Dont flatter yourself, bozo!  
 _March 24, 2009_  
   
   
Q- Awww just admit it. You totally think the art store dude is hot.  
   
A- Who?  
   
Q- You were just talking about him!  
   
A- I don't have to admit anything I don't want to admit to admitting.  
   
Q- Dude, you basically just admitted it.  
   
A- Shit.   
   
Q- Do you even know his name?  
   
A- I think his name tag says Sisky Biz.  
   
Q- What the hell kinda name is that?  
   
A- What kinda name is The Butcher?  
   
Q- Touche.  
   
A- Thank you.  
   
Q- Why don't you just ask him for his number, you pussy? Or are you just gonna keep going down to the store every day and moping around the pens and pencils aisle until he says Can I help you? I don't know about you but seems like that shit is getting embarrassing. No wonder those other dudes are making fun of you.  
   
A- Yeah well, Bill and Mike can go fuck themselves. I hate those guys.  
   
Q- Since when?  
   
A- Since that time they laughed at me.  
   
Q- 'That time'? You mean 'that time you tripped over and spilled paint all over the floor because you were too busy checking Sisky out to watch where you were going'? Why WOULDN'T they laugh at you?  
   
A- Well. What if Sisky doesn't like me?  
   
Q- He likes your tattoos. He likes your art. He said if you didn't have anything happening tomorrow night his band was playing. He said he hoped he'd see you there!  
   
A- ....Soooooo what's your point?   
   
Q- Okay that's it. I just have to accept the fact that you are beyond help. If you're not gonna ask then I will. Like, right now.  
   
A- But-  
   
Q- Too late! You missed your chance. I'm going.  
   
A- But you ARE me. If you're asking him that means _I'm_ asking him, which means you must have already decided that I would decide to ask... Hang on I'm confused.  
   
Q- So we're all finally on the same page, huh?  
   
A- What?  
   
Q- Nevermind. You ready?  
   
A- As I'll ever be.  
   
Q- Okay. Then let's go.

  
 

* * *

5\. GHOST STORY  
   
   
 **Tom Conrad:** I dont want people thinking I quit the band.  
 _November 1, 2007_  
   
   
It starts in Chicago, when they're writing and rehearsing new songs for the album that will eventually be  _Santi_.  
   
Tom's in the studio, trying to work out the shape of a song on his acoustic. He's intent on the sound, trying the notes first this way and that. He pauses every now and then to scratch a few marks on the sheet of paper he keeps weighted down with his cell phone.    
   
It's a while before he notices that the echo in the room is not an echo at all, but the strumming of another guitar.  
   
Tom's dimly aware of the other player - he can see in the corner of his eye that it's a tall guy with dirty blonde hair, his face hidden as he hunches over his guitar. But it's the music that matters, the chords coming together at last.  
   
They stop playing at the same moment, by some unspoken agreement. The last notes ring out and slowly die.  And finally Tom looks up, saying, "Hey."  
   
But there's no one there, just the empty rehearsal room and his own reflection in the window. He stands abruptly on unsteady feet, the guitar almost falling from his lap. And he remembers, too, that the door is locked and he's alone in the the studio.  
   
He sits back down with a thud.   
   
The next day, the rumours start. It starts with one post on myspace and then keeps spreading, through livejournal and absolutepunk and buzznet.  
   
 _he's out of the band._  
   
"We should make a statement," William says anxiously, long hands curled around a cup of coffee. "People are talking."  
   
"Maybe a post on myspace?" Tom suggests, looking around. No one replies. No one meets his eyes.  
   
Mike pushes back his chair and stands up. "We'll say something when there's something to say," he says, and that's the end of it.  
   
After, the band flies down to Los Angeles, staying in rented apartments by night and working in the studio by day.  
   
By then, Tom has seen the ghost many, many more times. It's beside him in the back seat of the cab, jostling with him for elbow room at the counter of a crowded bar. It's watching tv when he watches tv and it's the shadow at his back when he walks down the busy LA streets.  
   
It's when he's with the band that it's worst - that's when the ghost is there most often of all.  
   
Tom will look across the room and see the ghost playing in perfect time, phantom hands on phantom strings. He'll walk down the recording studio hallway and hear his footsteps doubled. He'll start to speak, and break off as he hears a distant echo.   
   
The ghost is Tom's alone. No one seems to notice anything strange is happening. No one says a word or even looks up when he pushes away from the mixing board and leaves the room, muttering about needing a smoke.  
   
After a few minutes The Butcher joins him in the parking lot. Silently they lean against the studio wall, side by side, and smoke.  
   
"I think I'm going crazy, man," Tom says at last. Carefully he grinds out the stub of his cigarette, avoiding The Butcher's eyes. "I keep seeing this ghost. Crazy, right?"  
   
Tom laughs and can hear the uneasiness in his own voice.  
   
"Like, just now - it was sitting in my seat," he says, and as he lights up again he realises that his hands are shaking. "It was drinking from my glass."  
   
The Butcher finishes his cigarette and drops the end on the ground. He still hasn't said anything. He doesn't even look at Tom.  
   
"Butcher?" Tom says, uncertainly. "Hey, dude? Are you - are you listening?"  
    
Back at the apartment that night, there's a shadow beneath the sheets in the shape of a man. Tom stands in the darkened doorway and makes himself breath slower, think slower, concentrate.  
   
It's not real, he tells himself over and over again, it's not here. You're real, Tom. You're here. You're real and it's not, _you're real and it's not_.  
   
He changes clothes in the dark and slides in beneath the covers, trembling slightly. Beside him the ghost sighs and mutters in its slumber, smiling crookedly as though dreaming some ghostly, peaceful dream.  
   
He wonders what would happen if it opened its eyes. If it would see him. If the ghost would believe itself to be real, and Tom to be the ghost.  
   
He wonders when it will disappear.  


**Author's Note:**

>  _erilyn asked for more about #2 in the comments to the original post. I replied:_
> 
> Of course they do a reunion tour. And they book a few warm-up shows first, under a fake name. "The Santi's?" Carden suggests; Bill vetoes this firmly. They end up playing as The Authors (LOLOLOL, for the song and for Bill both) for three nights only at Knights of Colombus Chicago.
> 
> For a few years now The Butcher and Siska have been falling out of touch. Siska's been based in Chicago while The Butcher's in NYC, and they try to keep in touch but sometimes Siska misses him, a dull ache like a sore tooth. "Good to see you, man," The Butcher says at first rehearsal, and pulls him into a hug, and Siska is both glad and sad, for all that they were and all that they never were. He wonders if The Butcher ever knew how he felt; and decides it's better that he didn't.
> 
> Rehearsal goes well. They're all good to one another, though gently wary as old friends are who meet up after long years apart, still not quite sure if the old jibes are still acceptable. The dynamic seems slightly shifted - Chislett and Carden seem to have developed their own secret language, and Bill isn't as showy as he once was, more turned inward rather than out. Siska wonders if it will work on stage...
> 
> About 30 people show up to the first show and half of them are oldschool Decaydance. LOL. But that's ok. Because it all comes together at the first song. Siska can even pick the exact moment when he knows it's going to come good - during About A Girl when he does the WHOO. Bill laughs out loud and the guitars are going like guns, and Siska looks back over his shoulder to The Butcher grinning at him and he grins back and it's just like old times, it's SO RIGHT, and the rest of the night is like that, flying so high that the odd dropped note or forgotten line ("my bad," William says when they have to start Winter Passing again, "it's been a long time since I sung this!") doesn't matter. They remember all over again how much they loved this, how much they love this.
> 
> The next day Siska calls up his boss and quits his job. It's not as explicit as Siska choosing The Butcher - though one of these days he will get up the nerve to do something about that - it's actually more the whole thing, it's the crowd cheering and the songs working and Bill reading poetry out loud backstage and Carden sniggering over some terrible joke and Chislett scrolling through his ipod playlist saying "wait, wait, wait one second, you have to hear this one..."
> 
> It's the choice he made 20 years ago, down in a basement with Jason's tall skinny earnest friend asking him "You ever feel like there was something you were born to do?" And Siska, wanting to impress, not completely knowing how true it would turn out to be, saying "Yes."
> 
> The next night they turn up to Knights of Colombus and the staff are putting up the signs in the ticket booth. SOLD OUT. SOLD OUT. SOLD OUT. "We're so awesome," The Butcher says, slinging an arm around Siska's waist. "Totally," Siska agrees, and promises himself quietly to never forget it.


End file.
